Live the Dream

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‘Well, it isn’t anybody else, you can be sure o’ that,’ came the chirpy reply. ‘Now then, who wants a brew?’

‘Not for me, thanks.’ Concerned about the time, Luke told her, ‘I’d best be off or I’ll be late.’

‘Well, it won’t be because I let you down,’ she declared. ‘I were out of my bed a full hour afore time on account o’ you.’ She wagged a finger as she told him mischievously, ‘O’ course, I’ll be wanting overtime money, you understand?’

He tutted. ‘Oh, I’m not sure I can promise anything like that,’ he teased. He and Edna understood each other very well.

Having already removed her coat and slung it over her arm, she pretended to put it back on. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Her voice was firm but her smile was growing. ‘If you aren’t going to treat me right, I shall take leave of you.’

Sylvia chuckled. ‘Behave yourselves! Stop teasing her,’ she chided Luke. And turning to Edna, she told her firmly, ‘And you’re just as bad. “Overtime money”, indeed. We’ve always looked after you and always will.’

Looking mortified, Edna curtsied. ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ she stuttered contritely. ‘Please don’t sack me. I won’t do it again.’

With a little laugh, Sylvia asked, ‘Didn’t you say something about “making a brew”?’

Edna laughed out loud. ‘I’ll make it right away,’ and she departed the room in a burst of merry laughter.

‘Edna is pure gold,’ Luke said. ‘She’ll take good care of you, and before you know it I’ll be back home.’

Sylvia nodded. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t leave me on my own,’ she apologised. ‘I’m sorry I was surly before.’

He slid his arm round her waist. ‘It’s all right.’

‘You’re so patient with me,’ she answered softly. ‘Any other man would have left long since.’

‘No they wouldn’t,’ he assured her, ‘not if they loved you as much as I do.’ Yet though he loved her, he was not in love with her. Sadly, with her affair with Arnold Stratton, and its consequences, she had severed that very special bond that held them together as man and wife.

It had been of her choosing, when she’d taken another man in place of Luke. But she was still his wife and, as far as he was concerned, that gave him certain responsibilities.

‘Kiss me, Luke … please.’ Like a spoiled child, she gave up her face for a kiss and he obliged. ‘I’ll come to the door with you.’ Taking hold of his hand, Sylvia went with him to the front door. ‘What’s this meeting about?’

‘I’ll tell you when I come home,’ he promised.

‘Tell me now!’

‘There’s no time now.’

‘I won’t let you go until you tell me!’ The smile remained, but the voice began to quiver.

Edna appeared on cue. ‘Now, now, dear. Let your husband get off,’ she urged gently. ‘He has important things to see to. Let’s you and me go and sit down for a few minutes, eh? I’ll make you some toast and marmalade, what about that?’

For a long, worrying moment, the younger woman stared at Edna, then she smiled at Luke, a coy little smile. ‘I’ll let you go,’ she told him, ‘for another kiss.’

Bending to kiss her on the mouth, he assured her, ‘We’ll talk when I get home. All right?’

Her smile widened. ‘Yes … all right.’

‘That’s my girl!’

‘Come on then, my dear,’ Edna said. ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten, we’re going shopping today.’

Sylvia appeared not to be listening. Instead she was standing at the open door, her gaze following Luke as he went to the car. A moment later he was gone and she was still waving. ‘It’s all right, he’s gone now.’ Edna would have closed the door but Sylvia put her foot there.

‘Why did he have to go early?’

‘He’s promised to tell you all about it when he gets home, and you told me yourself, he’s never yet broken a promise. Come on now, let’s go and get that toast on, eh?’ Edna had learned to read the signs. ‘Close the door, then we’ll go into the kitchen you and me.’

Ignoring her, Sylvia waved after Luke until her arm ached and when she turned it was with an expression of disbelief. ‘He’s gone!’

Edna quietly smiled. ‘That’s right, my dear … he’s gone to his work. So don’t you think you should close the door now?’ When Sylvia made no move, she stepped forward to shut out the cold morning air.

‘NO!’ Catching her heavily across the shoulder with a fist, Sylvia hissed through clenched teeth, ‘You leave it!’

Clutching her shoulder, Edna gave her a hardened stare. ‘Keep hold of yourself, child,’ she chastised harshly. ‘I meant only to close the door.’

‘There’s no need. Look, I can do it myself.’

With a sly little grin, Sylvia took a step sideways, then, gripping the edge of the door, she slammed it shut with all her might. The shuddering impact rattled the nearby shelf, sending ornaments crashing to the floor.

For a long, nerve-racking moment both women stared at the broken china.

Suddenly, the silence was broken with what sounded like a child sobbing, ‘Don’t punish me … please. I didn’t mean it.’

Before Edna could stop her, Sylvia had picked up a long shard of broken glass, crying out in pain when the sharp edges cut into her flesh. ‘Oh, Edna, look what I’ve done.’ All sense of reason had gone and in its place was the innocent fear of a child hurt. Holding the offending arm up for Edna to see, she began wailing. ‘I’ve done something bad, haven’t I?’ She appealed to the older woman with sorry eyes, ‘What’s wrong with me, Edna?’

Her cries collapsed into sobs and Edna’s heart went out to her. ‘It’s all right, my dear,’ she murmured. ‘You’ll be all right.’ But she would never ‘be all right’. Both Luke and Edna knew that, and maybe, deep down in the darkest corner of her mind, Sylvia knew it too.

The tears of remorse were genuine, as Edna knew all too well. ‘I’ll take care of it, child,’ she soothed, leading her away. ‘Once it’s washed and cleaned, it’ll be good as new.’

A swift examination told her that this time the wound was only flesh deep, thank God.

It was Luke Hammond’s father who had started the brush-making factory. Twice it had almost gone under and twice he brought it back to profit.

Luke grew up with it. He learned the art of business at an early age and had been groomed to deal with men on all levels. Like his father he respected his workers and was well trusted. Also, like his father he had a tireless passion for the business.

After his father was gone, he had taken up the reins and developed the business further. Now it was two businesses rolled into one. On the one side was the production of brushes: scrubbing brushes; horse brushes; yard sweepers, and anything that cleaned as long as it had bristles. Brushes of any kind had been the original backbone of the Hammond business and they still were.

But now there was another business growing alongside; a business started by Luke and which served others. There were many other companies in industrial Lancashire – some small and just starting out, and which had neither the capital nor premises to store the goods they produced. This was where, only a few years back, Luke had seen an opportunity.

Thanks to his father, he was fortunate to own a warehouse and factory premises of sizeable proportions, with room to spare for the brush-making business. ‘I have ample space,’ he told the owners of the small businesses at various meetings he’d arranged. ‘And I intend purchasing a fleet of wagons, so if we can close a deal, I’ll not only take your goods for storage, but I’ll deliver them as well. We can agree a long-term contract, or a short one that will let you out should you decide to expand your own concern.’

His intention was to provide such a good service that they would have no reason to sever relations.

Just as he had hoped, the idea was well received. Terms were agreed, and deals made, and it had turned out to be the best thing Luke had ever done.

News of the success of the arrangement spread, and it wasn’t long before larger, more established company men were knocking on Luke’s door. ‘We need to diversify,’ they said. ‘Our factory space is desperately needed for production and right now we have no wish to purchase other premises, but if we could utilise our present storage area and sell off our wagon fleet, we could grow our businesses overnight.’

Deals were struck that allowed Luke to take over old wagons, which had since been exchanged for newer ones.

Luke’s distribution business prospered, though its downside was that whenever one of his customers took a wrong turn and went under, Luke lost a sizeable slice of his business’s turnover. This had happened a few times, and on each occasion it threatened a serious step back.

This was what his employees now feared: that there had been others who had taken that ‘wrong turn’ and now it was themselves who were about to lose their livelihoods.

And so this morning, when they would learn their fate, they gathered from all parts of the factory: from the brush-making side, where the machines clattered all day and both men and women worked them with expertise, some cutting out the wooden shapes that would make the brush-tops, some feeding the bristles into the holes that were ready drilled and cleaned, and others fashioning and painting the handles.

When the production line produced the finished articles, the packers would neatly set them into boxes and the boxes would be carted away for delivery.

By nature, this was a dusty, untidy area, with the smell of dry horsehair assailing the nostrils, and the fall of bristles mounting high round the workers’ feet. Yet they loved their work and many a time the sound of song would fill the air.

The other side of the premises was cleaner, with mountainous stacks of boxes and parcels from other factories as well as Hammonds, all labelled and ready for delivery, and the four wagons in a neat row outside waiting to be loaded.

For the past few days, however, there had been only two wagons waiting, with the other two stationary further up the yard. Rumours had circulated, unease had settled in, and now, the mood of worried workers was so palpable, it settled over the factory like a suffocating blanket.

From his office at the top of the factory, Luke watched the workforce gather in the front yard. ‘They’re in a sombre mood,’ he told the clerk.

‘Aye, they are that, Mr Hammond.’ A ruddy-faced Irishman with tiny spectacles and tufts of hair sprouting from his balding head, old Thomas kept his nose glued to his accounts book.

Luke had some fifty people in his employ, and seeing them gathering in one place like now, it made a daunting sight, which filled him with pride and a sense of achievement, and also with apprehension. ‘They’re a good lot,’ he told the clerk.

‘Aye, they are that, Mr Hammond.’ Licking his pencil Thomas made another entry in his ledger.

Luke turned from the window to address him. ‘I expect they’ll be wondering why I’ve called them together like this.’

This time, Thomas glanced up. ‘Aye, they will that, Mr Hammond.’ The old man had been with Luke’s father before him, and was a loyal, trustworthy man who knew everything there was to know about the Hammond business.

Looking away, Luke smiled. ‘You’re a man of few words, Thomas.’

Thomas gave a long-drawn-out sigh. ‘Aye, I am that, Mr Hammond.’ Now as he glanced up, he smiled a wrinkly smile. ‘A man o’ few words, that’s me, so it is.’

Realising all the workforce were now gathered and waiting, Luke straightened his tie and fastened the buttons on his jacket. ‘It’s time,’ he said, opening the door. ‘I’d best tell them why they’re here.’